Chatterbox
by gravity01
Summary: She never stopped talking. Ever. It was exhausting... but at least he never had to guess what she was thinking. Females, in Erik's opinion, were notoriously difficult to read. EC family.


**Here's another addition to my 'sappy kid' series. They're all standalone fics ("Daddy's Girl", "I Am My Father's Son", "Erik's Little Dividends") that feature:**

 **1) Papa!Erik**

 **2) Lots of fluff**

 **This fic is dedicated to all of you who have read a story and wanted to scream "Just sit down and talk about it, already!"**

 **-0-0-**

Erik had never really cared for mindless prattle. Actually, he outright detested it.

It left him in quite a quandary when his beloved baby girl first began to speak. And then never stopped.

She talked when she was happy, when she was angry, when she was alone… the child even talked in her sleep!

She talked all the time. All. The. Time.

"But look at how articulate she is! At least we can understand her!" Christine had said cheerfully. "That's more than can be said for most children her age."

That really didn't improve things, in Erik's opinion. Baby-babble, he could eventually tune out… but coherent sentences meant he was expected to _listen_ and that was, quite frankly, exhausting.

And, of course, if he _didn't_ listen, it would inevitably come back to bite him, later. Like the mangy kitten he'd apparently agreed to without realizing it.

And then there were the _questions._ The ever-present 'whys' and 'hows' that were hurled at him with an urgency that seemed entirely disproportionate to the subject matter.

 _Why aren't there dragons in France?_

 _How far away is the furthest place you can think of?_

 _What would you do if I had a twin?_

 _How much hotter would it be today if we had two suns?_

You see? Exhausting.

Worse, she was utterly and immutably convinced that Erik had all the answers. Young as she was, she knew of only two convictions that could believed with absolute certainty:

1) There existed no injury that could not be cured by Mama-kisses

2) Papa was an expert in All Things

Now, as flattering as his daughter's confidence was, Erik was most certainly _not_ an expert in All Things… which left him with the significant burden of constantly researching or fabricating answers to the endless questions her busy imagination might construct.

He had reached his wits' end… which was saying a lot. Though normally quick to temper, Erik seemed to have infinite patience for the little child who managed to occupy a corner his heart, which he had once thought was _already_ full to bursting.

It always managed to surprise people, the way Erik doted on his daughter. It seemed everyone assumed some cruel and boorish behavior on his part, and were taken aback by his genuine fondness. Perhaps it was his own fault, having garnered a reputation as surly (at best!) toward anyone but his wife, but still...

Even Christine had been a frightened wreck when she'd first learned that she was expecting. She'd kept it from him, at first, becoming more touchy and high-strung with each passing day until he'd succumbed to a fit of paranoid jealousy and she'd been forced to reveal the truth.

As far as secrets went, Erik thought this was the _best_ he could have hoped for. Christine had feared his anger but, in truth, Erik was pleased beyond reason. Too elated for words, the man had simply laughed and laughed. And, if it sounded a touch _hysterical_ , it was simply because he was out of practice! But it had mortified his poor wife, who thought he was making light of her anxiety.

'Elated' was the wrong word, perhaps. Rather… Erik felt _triumphant._

Christine was bound to him, now, even more so than before. True, she'd returned to him of her own free will, and she'd married him before God and whatever witnesses he could scrape together… but there was always this lingering doubt, an insistent pinprick in the back of his mind, that she might abandon him for the vicomte or some other handsome admirer.

But this… _this_ was permanent! Unbreakable. A shared child would _ensure_ her faithfulness. She would never, ever leave the father of her child. The very concept would be unthinkable to her.

The knowledge left a sense of tranquility inside him, the likes of which he had never felt before. It was as if he was relieved of a tension that he hardly knew he had.

But that was a hard thing to explain without sounding like an absolute beast… so Erik merely endured her wrath, plying her with flowers and words of adoration until she forgave him for his perceived insensitivity.

The long-grasped-for victory transformed Erik. He still obsessed over his wife (he likely always would) but the reassurance… the _promise_ that equaled no words she could utter… it made him a new man.

Not that he'd ever say such things to Christine. She would think he didn't trust her. And he did! He just... didn't trust anyone else.

But, again, that was impossible to explain, so he just… didn't.

Instead, he tried to express his newfound satisfaction with his actions, rather than his words.

He stopped following her, for one. Of course, he needed her as strongly as ever, but he no longer felt compelled to trail after her like a lost puppy as she traveled from room to room. He could function simply _knowing_ that she was in the house, rather than needing the constant assurance of her presence in the same room at all times.

He still delighted in the right to share her space… but he found contentment in listening to her soft breathing, rather than the need to stare unblinkingly, lest she disappear before his eyes.

Christine was… rather less reassured. She mistook his relaxation for disinterest, and began to fret.

Not that she _told_ him she was fretting. She just grew clingy and waspish in equal measure. Alternated the extremes of affectionate and vicious.

To put it mildly… she was terrifying.

He'd assumed these were normal, pregnancy-related emotions and did his best to ignore them. Until she reached a breaking point, one day... shattered an entire set of dishes and accused him of having an _affair_ , of all things!

He'd laughed at her absurdity.

She'd cried over his flippancy.

He'd raged over her volatility.

She'd challenged him over his hypocrisy.

They'd sorted it out, of course. They always did. Through sheer strength and awkwardness, the two carved out a life for themselves. A happy life. The best life two broken creatures could ever imagine.

Still, there were times that Erik could not help but lament. How many moments of wedded bliss had been sacrificed to silent suffering and truces built on eggshells?

From the beginning, their relationship had been one tragic misunderstanding after another.

His attention turned to the little chatterbox tap-tap-tapping on his knee.

He sighed. At least he never had to guess what was going on in _her_ curly blond head. She shared every single thought that went through her brain - whether it be profound, boring, or outright inappropriate.

And, given the constant stream of speech, her mind was clearly a very busy place.

"Papa!"

"Busy, angel," Erik answered, distractedly. He was trying to write a note, but every last piece of paper he had was covered in swirly black squiggles.

"But Papa!"

He patted her head. _I need to lock up my pen set_ , he reminded himself.

"Mm-hm?" he hummed, half listening. He found a page that was slightly less ruined than the others and began to jot his thoughts into the margin.

 _She's asking you something_ , his mind urged. "Yes, dear. As long as it's alright with your mother."

Well, that hadn't helped. Now she was even more adamant. As much as he wanted to concentrate on his writing, all he coul-

"Papa! Paaaapaaaa! Listen to me! ERIK!"

"WHAT?"

The little girl looked to him with calm, golden eyes and poked a tiny finger on the corner of paper. "Papa… it hurts my feelings when you write all over my drawings."

He looked down at the scribbles on his notepad, seeing, for the first time, some intentional shapes scattered amongst the chaotic lines. He turned the top page sideways - yes, there he was, holding her hand… and there was Christine and a dog-elepha-PIANO! Yes, a piano.

"I… well. Oh. I am sorry, princess. I wouldn't write all over them if you would stop using my good composition paper."

"May I have my own notepad, Papa?"

"Of course you may. I'll pick one up tomorrow." He tore a few pages out of the back and handed them over. "I am sorry I ruined your artwork, sweet. Are you angry with me?"

"Not anymore," she replied with a dimpled grin. Her smile faded slightly - _only slightly_ \- and she asked, "Are you angry with _me_?"

"Not… anymore," he answered, giving her a small smile of his own.

"Good!" she said and, with a quick peck on his uncovered jaw and a cheerful 'I love you', she skipped down the hall, humming to herself.

"That was… easy," Christine said, from the doorway. For a moment, she and Erik merely looked at each other, a mutual sort of understanding crossing both their features.

"Very easy," Erik agreed, sounding just a little dazed. "Do you suppose _we_ sh-"

Whatever unspoken truth he had been about to share was abruptly interrupted by a little voice in the other room.

"MAMA! PAPA! Come quick! I have a question about sea turtles!"

Another shared look passed between them and the parents both began to laugh. Erik wrapped his arm around Christine's shoulders, kissed her temple and said, "Well come along, my dear. The tyrant awaits. A turtle emergency must not be taken lightly."


End file.
